


Wesley Watched

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Set during AtS S5. Wesley watches. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Wesley Watched

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[spangel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spangel), [wesley](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wesley), [wesley watched](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/wesley%20watched)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Wesley Watched (1/1)**_  
**Title: **Wesley Watched    
**Pairing:** Spike/Angel plus Wesley   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:**  angst, slash, non-worksafe art   
**Summary:**  Set during AtS S5. Wesley watches.    
**AN:** Today's fic was inspired by this lovely art [](http://mwrgana.livejournal.com/profile)[**mwrgana**](http://mwrgana.livejournal.com/)  made for me. The fic also incorporates one of January's nekid_spike prompts.   


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/00098f0b/)  
---  
  
**WESLEY WATCHED**

 

Wesley watched. Naturally.

He watched as his friends, the people he’d grown to trust, allowed themselves to be lured by the law firm’s largesse, by power and wealth and knowledge and all their fantasies come true. He’d allowed it himself. All the time they were telling themselves they were still fighting the good fight, that the best way to fight evil was from within, but he knew they all had the same reservations he did. He could see it in their eyes, although they never spoke of it.

He watched as the woman he loved—the only woman he had ever loved—watched another man. Something had happened between Fred and Gunn, he didn’t know what, and it had destroyed the easy relationship they’d had. But they still yearned for one another. He could tell from their quick glances, the ones they thought nobody saw. He saw them, though. He was, after all, once a Watcher.

He watched as the vampire-with-a-soul, the hero to whom he had pledged to support, the demon he’d once counted as a friend, balanced on the trembling edge between light and dark, and Wesley had no idea which way he’d fall.

Then Spike had materialized, and Wesley had watched him as well. At first his interest had been rather abstract, as he wondered why Spike had been sent to them and what his place was meant to be. When Spike became corporeal again—under circumstances as mysterious as his arrival—Wesley’s curiosity had sharpened. Could it be Spike and not Angel about whom the prophecy spoke? If not, what would his presence do to Angel’s already unstable circumstances?

And it was this last question that had really focused his attention on Spike, and on Spike’s interactions with Angel. He couldn’t quite get a handle on the nature of their relationship. There was rivalry there, to be sure. Angel appeared to view Spike with annoyance and contempt, and Spike’s primary mission seemed to be to irritate Angel to the fullest extent possible. But Wesley had read the Diaries and he knew a bit of their past. Twenty years traveling and killing together. And, of course, he watched them. His reading and his observations suggested to him that there was something more between them. He just wasn’t certain what.

So, because it was important to the mission, Wesley watched Spike and Angel very closely. Because what went on between them was perhaps material to the fate of the entire world. Not because they were both beautiful and dangerous, like wild tigers. Not because sometimes he dreamt of them, individually and together, with him and without. Not because when the lights were out and the blankets pulled firmly to his chin, he permitted his hand to creep under the waist of his pajama trousers, and he thought of them.

 

***

 

Spike had come to visit him sometimes, when he was still a ghost. He’d appear unexpectedly in Wesley’s office and peer over his shoulder at whatever book Wesley happened to be reading. He was different when Angel wasn’t around, Wesley noticed. A little less cocky and more serious. It turned out he was a better hand at Latin than Wesley was, and had a good handle on several demon languages as well. He helped out with some translations.

Sometimes he’d just stand there, though, and look out the windows at the city. He’d stare right at the sun. No risk of being blinded, Wesley supposed. Sometimes he’d stand there for ages, tracking the sun’s slow movement like a man who hadn’t seen the light in over a hundred and twenty years. He’d twitch his fingers and pat absently at his duster for cigarettes that were never there. Wesley would glance up from his books and scrolls now and then to see the way the light played across pale skin and sharp cheekbones, and then he’d look back down again, trying to decipher ancient, curling script.

“Why do you do it?” Spike suddenly asked him one afternoon. “Perhaps the others can fool themselves for a moment or two, but not you. You know what’s going on here.”

Wesley took off his glasses and poured himself a measure of whiskey. Spike shook his head ruefully, clearly wishing he could have some as well. “Angel thinks this is the best way to combat them. We were making little headway before; our resources were too limited and—“

“Yeah, I know what Peaches thinks. I’m asking about you. You’re a man who can think for himself, aren’t you?”

“I am.” He took a sip.

“And you’re a clever bloke as well. Smarter than that old pillock.” He tilted his chin in the general direction of Angel’s office. “So why do you do it?”

Wesley drank again. “It…seems like the right thing to do, I expect.”

“A Watcher working for Evil Inc.? Hobnobbing with demons, making deals with the nasties you’re meant to be killing.”

“Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”

Spike’s laugh was bitter and ancient-sounding. “Yeah, I reckon I know something about those kind of sacrifices.”

Wesley had to think for a few moments. “You don’t believe Angel is fighting for good any longer?”

“I didn’t say that. The old sod thinks he’s doing the right thing, thinks he can save the bleeding world and earn redemption and the heavenly choirs will sing. But he’s an old hand at fooling himself about the distance between what he is now and Angelus.” Spike stepped closer, so close Wesley had to steel himself not to move back. “But I can tell you something about being a vampire with a soul. It doesn’t make the demon go away, and it doesn’t mean you’re any improvement on the weak man you once were. Certainly doesn’t make you some kind of sodding knight in shining armor. The pouf would do loads better if he’d admit that, and so would the rest of you.”

Spike had left then, somehow managing to stomp loudly despite being incorporeal. Wesley had stood for a long time after that, clutching his glass of whiskey, thinking about what Spike had said.

 

***

 

Wesley frequently slept on the sofa in his office when his work had gone on too long to make it worthwhile to drive home. He kept some changes of clothes there, and he’d had a private bathroom installed, complete with a shower. All told, he spent a lot more time at Wolfram &amp; Hart than he did back in his flat.

Occasionally, Spike would barge in on him when Wesley was in the shower, just ghosting his way through the walls to appear by the sink, smirking. The first time he’d done so, Wesley had yelled and blushed and snatched at his towel. After that he didn’t bother. He’d pretend to ignore Spike while he soaped and shampooed and rinsed, and then he’d turn off the tap and dry off nonchalantly, as if he had company in the loo all the time.

He thought at first that Spike did this as a game, because he enjoyed frightening and embarrassing Wesley. But after a time, Wesley wasn’t so sure. He got the impression that the vampire was lonely. There were few other people in the building at night, just Wesley and Angel up in his penthouse and the security and cleaning crews. Wesley began to believe that Spike was seeking him out this way because it was the nearest he could get to a normal, non-work routine. It was one of the few times he could speak with someone who wouldn’t tell him they were busy and he should go away.

So Wesley would talk to him a bit, chatting about places they both knew in England, or making fun of whatever appalling thing the Americans had done recently. Sometimes Spike spoke of Sunnydale, almost wistfully, and sometimes he’d let Wesley ask him questions about the past, about some of his adventures in his more evil days.

When Spike became solid again, he stopped visiting. Wesley missed it. It was the closest he’d had in some time to a social life.

 

***

 

After Spike regained his body, everyone thought he’d left. Angel scowled and muttered things under his breath about Buffy. Wesley didn’t expect to see the blond vampire again. But then there he was, staying in an awful little flat, seemingly doing freelance hero work, and once again lecturing Wesley—and this time Gunn as well—about how they should leave Wolfram &amp; Hart. It was more than a little strange to have William the Bloody sermonizing to him about taking the moral high road, and even stranger still that deep inside, Wesley believed him.

Wesley watched as Angel wavered on the brink of leaving the firm. Wesley himself was torn over the situation; while he counseled Angel to remain, a part of him hoped that the vampire wouldn’t. Then along came Cordelia and Lindsey, and Angel’s commitment to his original plan was reaffirmed. Spike rejoined them as well, and now there was a subtle difference in the way the vampires interacted, something Wesley couldn’t quite put his finger on.

And then he was distracted when a clan of Afraxar demons threatened to send lethal rays through people’s mobile phones if Wolfram &amp; Hart didn’t help them defeat a rival clan, and one of Lorne’s celebrity clients turned out to not be quite human—which shouldn’t have surprised anyone, really, considering the woman’s behavior—and Lorne needed some help covering up a few of her indiscretions, and Wesley was still trying to determine what role Eve had played in the previous month’s activities and whether there was a foolproof way to keep her away.

On Friday afternoon there was a meeting, an endless one with Gunn and some of the lawyers droning on about contracts. Hardly anyone at the table was paying any attention. Fred was scribbling equations on her notepad, Lorne was texting people, and Angel was tipped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling so unblinkingly Wesley was wondering whether vampires could sleep with their eyes open. Wesley himself was reciting T’ravanic harvest rituals in his mind, trying to keep his own head from nodding.

Everyone jumped slightly when Spike came bursting in the door. “There’s a nest of vamps causing troubles up the coast,” he announced to Angel. “You reckon you can still manage a fledge or two, old man? Or are you too busy with your important i-dotting and t-crossing?”

Angel glared. “I know that real, grown-up work is a little over your head, Spike, but this stuff really is important.”

Spike shrugged. “Suit yourself.  I’m going to go have a bit of fun that doesn’t involve manila folders. You won’t mind if I take the Viper, will you?” Not waiting for an answer, he spun around in a swirl of black leather and strode toward the door.

Angel leapt to his feet and ran after him.

After that, the meeting dragged on even longer, until Wesley was beginning to wonder if he weren’t actually trapped somewhere in Hell. But finally the lawyers tucked away their papers and everyone stood and stretched with relief. Lorne looked at his watch. “It’s been fun, kids, but I have a pre-party to dress for. Tootles!” and he left.

Wesley turned to Fred. “I was wondering whether—“

She patted his shoulder. “Could we talk about this on Monday? A hot bubble bath and a pint of Haagen-Dasz are calling my name right now.”

“Of course. I, erm…enjoy your weekend.” Welsey watched as everyone filed out of the room. He was the last one to leave, and he turned off the lights and shut the door.

Back in his own office, he sat down in front of the fifth volume in Girard’s _Du Monde Démoniaque_ and picked up a pen. He sat there for several moments, trying to concentrate on his work, until he threw the pen down in disgust. A nice physical brawl sounded good to him now, too. The kind they used to have, with stakes and knives and crossbows and rushes of adrenalin and everybody getting satisfyingly bruised and bloody. Perhaps Spike and Angel could use some assistance.

He tried to ring Angel, but there was no answer. That didn’t especially surprise him; half the time Angel refused to use his phone, and the other half he forgot to recharge it. Wesley had long ago placed a small spell on Angel’s phone that allowed Wesley to locate it even when the battery was dead. All he had to do was chant a few words, and a set of coordinates appeared on his computer screen. Ah. They were up near Santa Barbara. Wesley printed out the directions and grabbed his jacket.

 

***

 

He might have begun to mistrust the accuracy of his spell. After all, vampires rarely spent much time in the woods, and if this nest was dining on forest creatures, then they would not have been of much concern to whomever had alerted Spike of their presence. But there was the Viper, pulled off to the side of the quiet road. Wesley stopped his bike behind it and cut the engine before dismounting. He hung his helmet on the handlebar, patted his pockets to make sure his stakes were there, and looked about.

They were far from any inhabited areas and there were no streetlights here. It would have been very dark indeed if the sky had not been clear and the moon full. As it was, he had just enough light to make out a badly overgrown drive—just a pair of rutted lines, really—heading off into the trees. Wesley patted his pockets again and followed the drive.

The drive twisted and turned a bit, heading mostly uphill. It was a calm night, a bit chilly, and he heard little but his own breaths and once, somewhere far away, the call of an owl. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been out of the city. In fact, he rarely went anywhere anymore except the office and his flat, with occasional side forays to the grocers or drycleaners. He wondered whether he could persuade Fred to join him for a Sunday afternoon picnic the following weekend, or perhaps she’d join him for a leisurely drive. Not a date, of course, but only a pleasant few hours between colleagues, between _friends_. Surely she would at least consider it.

The scent of woodsmoke hit his nostrils and he paused. Were the vampires having a campfire? Wesley shook his head at the mental image of demons gathered around the flames, roasting marshmallows on sticks, and he continued up the path.

The drive went round a bend and crested a hill and entered a clearing. Wesley froze among the trees, blinking his eyes at the vision he saw.

There was a large hole in the ground, clearly the foundation of some long-gone house. It was surrounded by a garden gone feral, with brambling roses and overgrown hedges and hairy tufts of grass. A small fire had been lit inside the hole, hardly more than glowing coals sending a thin stream of smoke into the air. At one corner of the hole, a blanket had been laid atop the dirt. Angel and Spike were standing near the blanket. Embracing.

Their mouths were near one another’s ears, and perhaps they were talking quietly to each other. Wesley was too far away to hear. But he could see very well, the moonlight illuminating the scene as if it were a stage, and he watched as Spike slowly unbuttoned Angel’s shirt and Angel let it fall from his shoulders. Then Spike drew Angel’s white t-shirt over the bigger vampire’s head, leaving Angel bare-chested in the cool night air. Angel did the same for Spike, and he tossed Spike’s red shirt and black t-shirt onto a small pile that must have been the duster.

The vampires drew back together then, arms wrapping tightly around backs, and they kissed. Spike’s back was to Wesley, and Wesley could see Angel’s hands wandering restlessly over the expanse of bare skin, rubbing at the shoulder blades and digging along the spine before settling just at the waistband of Spike’s jeans. Then Angel moved his head, and from the way Spike tilted his neck, Wesley realized that Angel must be sucking or biting at him. One of them groaned loudly enough that the sound carried all the way to the trees where Wesley hid.

In all the times Wesley had pictured them together, it had never been like this. Not slow and tender, two bodies moving gently together like a sensuous dance. It was, perhaps, the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

After some time Angel’s hands moved, this time to the space between himself and Spike. He pushed at Spike’s trousers, and they fell, pooling down near his ankles, revealing Spike’s white, firm buttocks. They kissed again, this time with Angel’s hand on Spike’s arse.

Wesley was unaware that he’d moved until he felt a twinge in his knee. That’s when he realized he was now at the very edge of the stone foundation, kneeling down, well out of hiding. Angel was looking at him, his eyes dark and inscrutable, but Angel didn’t stop what he was doing with Spike, nor did Spike indicate that he was aware of Wesley’s presence. Wesley felt his face grow hot with shame he hadn’t felt since the headmaster had pulled down Wesley’s trousers to give him a caning for some transgression, and Wesley had grown hard and then climaxed, his semen spurting humiliatingly onto his own shirt and tie. But despite the way his face flamed and his heart rattled, Wesley couldn’t move away now, couldn’t even turn his head from the sight before him.

Angel slowly moved Spike around until Spike was on his back on the blanket. The older vampire wrestled for a moment with Spike’s boots and jeans, and when Spike was completely naked Angel lay upon him like a blanket. Angel still had on his own trousers. Wesley imagined he could feel the way skin and fine wool rubbed together, warm friction between cool bodies. Angel moved his mouth to Spike’s neck and, as Spike arched his head back, down to his sternum and then across to Spike’s nipple. Spike grabbed at Angel’s head, and that was the most surprising thing of all, that Angel didn’t seem to mind having his carefully gelled hair disarrayed.

Spike’s eyes were closed as Angel moved down, licking his way across Spike’s abdomen and then between Spike’s widely splayed legs. Spike’s cock was hard against his belly, the curls at his groin darkly shadowed. When Spike bent his knees and Angel began to nuzzle and tongue at his entrance, Wesley had to remind himself to breathe.

Spike tilted his pelvis up and Angel lapped and fingered at him until Spike was moaning and thrashing his head back and forth, his hands opening and closing on the blanket. “Liam,” he growled in a low and guttural voice, and Wesley thought he heard Angel chuckle in response. Angel rose up on his knees and unfastened his trousers, then pushed them down to his thighs. His rump was wider than Spike’s, more heavily muscled, and dark hairs sprinkled the back of his legs.

Angel repositioned himself slightly and Spike bent his knees against his own chest. Then Angel must have entered Spike, because the younger vampire cried out and Angel went very still. Only for a moment, though. Soon he was swiveling his hips and Spike was clawing at his back and buttocks. Both of them were panting harshly and so was Wesley. It didn’t take long after that—Spike roared and then so did Angel, and as the vampires writhed and shuddered against each other Wesley’s own cock pulsed within the confines of his clothing and he came. The slight tremors of his body dislodged some rubble, which clattered down into the hole, ending Wesley’s paralysis.

Spike turned his head a bit and looked up at him. His eyes glinted sharply and his mouth turned up in a small smile. Then Angel collapsed on top of him and rolled off to Spike’s side. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and covered them both with it. Wesley watched them kiss and rub at each other’s faces and necks a moment more, and then he turned and ran.

 

***

 

Monday was the same as any other Monday. Meetings and demons and research and spells. Angel stomped around and ordered people about. Spike goaded him. Neither of them gave any indication that anything unusual had happened the previous weekend. It was almost as if it had been a dream, but there were still dirt and grass stains on the jeans Wesley had worn on Friday, and his boots still had a few pine needles caught in the treads.

Wesley watched carefully all week for knowing expressions to pass between the vampires, or for either of them to look at him any differently to how they always had. But nothing changed, and the crises went on as always.

A week later, Fred kissed him, and in the heart-crushing series of events that happened afterward, he forgot all about what he had seen. He didn’t think of it again until months later, didn’t think of much of anything, really, as he retreated behind alcohol and frantic researching and then trying, once again, to avert an apocalypse.

The next time he thought about that Friday night, in fact, was while he stood in Angel’s office. Angel had just told them a tale, and had asked them to sacrifice their lives based entirely on their faith in him, their belief that he was still fighting the good fight. He’d asked them and there had been silence.

And then Wesley watched as Spike raised his hand. Spike, who seemed to have the least interest of any of them in what was going on, who had insisted repeatedly that he was not a part of the team and who, Wesley would have believed, was the most self-interested and self-absorbed of them all. Spike trusted Angel and lifted his hand and volunteered to take part in Angel’s grand, suicidal statement.

Then Wesley had remembered that night, how he’d watched the tenderness between the vampires. Perhaps even seen some kind of love. And Wesley raised his hand as well.

 

_\---fin---_

 


End file.
